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DEL a half's special residence in Italy); and last, the momentary excitement into which he plunged after the revolution of 1818, in support of the cause of art—nothing; occurred to disturb the calm of his existence. His manners accorded in perfect unison with the character of his style as an artist; they both were exquisitely noble and modest, the expression of deep and delicate feelings. The son of an official valuer of objects of art, and the nephew of a keeper of the prints of the Parisian library, from the very intercourse of his domestic life the young Delaroche must needs have imbibed, almost unaware, a taste for art. At an early age his resolve was formed to give himself up to the cultivation of artistical pursuits. The manner in which his choice amongst the various branches came to be fixed is worthy of notice, as illustrative of the singular amiability of his disposition. Paul, as he had gradually come to be called, had a brother older than himself, to whom he was most warmly attached. Jules Delaroche shared with the other members of his family a taste for art, and, believing himself born to cultivate it with success, declared his intention also to turn painter. It was then that our artist, out of deference for his elder brother, and in order to avoid whatever cause for envy or ill-feeling might arise between them if exercising the same profession, proposed and arranged that Jules should, as by right of seniority, take up the historical line, under the great David; while he, as the younger of the two, should content himself with the subordinate branch of landscape painting, with Watelet for his master. The matter thus settled, Paul set to work with such energy, that in 1817, when scarcely twenty, he was able not only to compete for, but actually to carry off the great prize in the adopted line. Jules, on the other hand, soon found out the difference between power of appreciation and aptitude to produce, and, with a readiness that speaks highly for his modesty and good sense, altogether renounced painting. This event removed all objections to Paul's embracing the longed-for career; it was, however, too late for him to replace his brother in David's studio, as the latter was just then obliged to go an exile to Brussels. Delaroche, therefore, entered the atelier of Baron Gros, where he soon began to give signs of the greatness he was destined to attain. The young artist's progress was singularly rapid. A demand for a work was privately made to him by an illustrious patroness. It was the first, and he scarcely knew how to act. Ought he to communicate it to his master, and, by so doing, admit his belief of being capable of executing the work? Or would it be better for him to keep this matter secret, and try his strength unknown to Gros? Moved either by shyness or by juvenile confidence, Delaroche dares to accept the order, studies and composes the subject—"Christ's Descent from the Cross"—and executes his picture without consulting his master! But, when the deed is done, the pupil hastens to unburden himself of the secret, growing heavier every day. Having related to the old man what had taken place, Paul humbly begs of him the favour of a visit to inspect his work, and the aid of his advice upon it. The baron's magisterial dignity fancies itself slighted. The visit is bluntly refused—the pupil coldly rebuked. At last the natural goodness of Gros prompts him to consent to see the young man's work, and to give his advice on it "if it is brought to his atelier." And Paul lost no time in bringing it there. A flattering opinion is pronounced upon it, and confidence completely restored between master and pupil. This is the place to remark that, whilst deriving the greatest benefit from the lessons his master was so capable of imparting, Delaroche was far from adopting blindly any particular tenet of art. In fact, submitting to as many of his master's precepts as coincided with his own views on painting, and adopting as much of the classicism which distinguishes the school of David, then generally pervading art, as his taste allowed him to accept—Delaroche chose for himself quite a distinct line. This was characterized by much of the simplicity of the Italian painters of the fourteenth and fifteenth century, and more by such delicate appreciation of the "beautiful" as belongs only to high artistic genius. Referring to more diffuse accounts than our own publication admits for a full description of all his works, we shall limit ourselves to noting a few of the most celebrated. After some less important exhibitions of his artistical power, Delaroche produced before the public the "Josabeth saving Joas," brought out in 1822. It was received with extraordinary favour. In each of the productions that followed the development of his powers, could be noted—in none more easily than in the one exhibited in 1825, representing Filippo Lippi painting a madonna for a convent—a nun sitting to him, of whose beauty he becomes enamoured. Nothing can surpass the charms of this delightful composition! The growing passion of the painter, the modest yet not unmoved countenance of the surprised maiden, and the pervading quiet of the cloister, are all most efficiently rendered. The "Death of Queen Elizabeth," exhibited in 1827, presents the most striking contrast to the simplicity of the former subject. Passing over other most enthralling pictures produced in the following years, we come to the pathetic and admirable composition, produced in 1831, representing the unfortunate sons of Edward, in which the master begins also to show greater vigour and intensity of colour than hitherto displayed. The same year witnesses the production of two of the most complete pages of French history that modern art has been able to produce—they are the "Cardinal Richelieu on the Rhône," and "Cardinal Mazarin on his Death-bed." But by far the grandest and most impressive subject is that which Delaroche exhibited in the following year, "Cromwell Inspecting the Corpse of Charles I." The "Execution of Jane Grey," painted in 1834, is another specimen of a terrible scene, portrayed with the greatest amount of pathos without shocking by its details. This picture was followed in 1835 and 1837 by others equally moving—those representing the "Death of the Duke of Guise" and "Strafford on his way to the Scaffold," both of which rank amongst the most impressive productions of our artist. During the following years down to 1841, this great and fertile master devoted himself almost entirely to the decoration of the hemicycle of the French Academy. This wonderful work was unfortunately destroyed by fire; but the finished sketch from which it had been executed, and the most beautiful engraving of it published a few years ago, partially redeemed the otherwise irreparable loss, and the regrets which such an accident inspires are still further modified by the restoration which Delaroche himself began, and Robert Fleury completed. Whilst engaged on this gigantic labour, our indefatigable artist found time to execute other works, amongst which is the "St. Cecilia playing on the Organ, supported by Angels." Nothing can surpass the celestial suavity of this picture, the engraving of which is one of the most common embellishments of dwellings where art is worshipped. Delaroche was a master also in the art of portraiture. We notice, as examples of his skill in this branch, the portraits of Guizot, Remusat, De Noailles, Emile Pereira, Thiers, Vernet, Lamartine, &c., &c. At the end of 1842 he removed from Paris to Rome, and spent nearly twelve months in comparative repose. After his return to France he produced "Marie Antoinette after hearing her Sentence;" "Moses Saved from the Nile;" "A Young Martyr;" "General Bonaparte Passing the Alps;" and "The Emperor Napoleon I. at Fontainebleau. In 1856 his health began to give way. A neglected malady, the extent of which was perhaps only fully known to himself, in the short space of three weeks completely wasted his strength. One night of November, in which the fast declining man felt more melancholy and despondent than usual, stretching out his already wasted hand to seek that of an old and favourite pupil of his who had passed the evening nursing him, he whispered rather than said—"Stay, don't go to-night—give me your hand! Do you hear my voice?" And after a gasp—"The last sounds of a voice that expires, the last heat of a fire that goes out;" and he fell asleep. Towards morning his attentive nurse, seeing him composed, retired for a moment from the sick-room, and on his return, a few moments afterwards, found the great master a corpse! It was on the morning of the 4th November, 1856, that Paul Delaroche thus died, aged fifty-nine years. But his fame will last as long as art will be worshipped.—R. M.  DELARUE,, born at Caen in 1751; died in 1835. Delarue was educated at Caen, took orders, and became one of the professors there. He devoted himself to the study of the history and antiquities of Normandy. It was the day of the convention, and in their zeal to settle and unsettle everything, they issued a decree on the civil state of the clergy, against which the university of Caen protested. An oath was required, which the professors, and among them Delarue, refused to take. In 1793 he left his country for England, confiding a manuscript history of Normandy to the count de Mathau. A manuscript, in every page of which were the words "roi" and "royaute," was a dangerous deposit, and the count burned it. Delarue resided in London: through the interest of the Society of 